Drops in the Ocean
by Haina
Summary: A collection of ExT drabbles. Ranging from character portraits to pregnant dialogues to heartfelt incidents. Each chapter may be read separately. She was his light, blinding. He was her redwood, silent and still.
1. bathing in artificial light

**Disclaimer:** All rights and privileges to Card Captor Sakura and all related art, characters and story are trademarks and property of CLAMP, Nelvana, Kodansha, NEP21, Tokyo Pop and associated parties. The characters of these works are used without permission for the purpose of entertainment only. I, Hally Dang, do not claim Card Captor Sakura and all related art, characters and story as my own property.

* * *

**Drop in the Ocean: a collection**  
by Hally Dang

* * *

_Drops in the Ocean is a collection of drabbles and vignettes all involving Eriol, Tomoyo and explores their relationship_—_sometimes platonic, sometimes romantic. There is no order to these chapters and they are not connected in any way unless otherwise specified. Each chapter is meant to stand on its own and read seperately._

_Please feel free to jump around, reading chapters that sound interesting to you. Enjoy!_

* * *

**One: bathing in artificial light**

If Tomoyo was a color, it would be ephemeral, passionate violet. She was malleable and warm like the tint of rich red wine as you hold it up to the light: translucent and enigmatic. He knew that she would never stay the same way for more than a moment, as a colored stone would transform itself in order to respond to various flickers of light. And she was beautiful that way—existing in a state of utter mutiny, yet she was still herself. She was everything, and everything was Tomoyo.

It must be very difficult for her, Eriol knew, to live this life, to exist yet not at the same instant. She was never there, her face merely a façade. On days when she was wholly broken, she glowed even brighter. Then on those rare days she was genuinely joyful, she cried.

And how much he wanted to break beneath that surface, to find the pigments of truth under her skin.

Yet that intimacy he longed for was reserved for only one person; someone who was more vivacious than a spring day, someone who lighted up the room like the summer sun. Tomoyo bathed within that light and in it she thrived. She sparkled as she could never sparkle for anyone else.

Eriol looked at her again. He studied those great amethyst eyes and saw only a lost, tragic soul. And how much he wanted to be her light—even if it was an artificial light to give her life again.

* * *


	2. and I love you even through uncertainty

**

* * *

**

**Two: and I love you even through uncertainty

* * *

**

They have settled into a routine. Every morning, Tomoyo would always be the first the wake up. She made coffee for Eriol, and tea for herself. So that he would always be awoken by the warm smell of coffee and jasmine tea. Then when he had finally wandered his way into the kitchen, he would find her in front of the stove, softly humming some vivacious little tone, making toast or pancakes.

Eriol loved her for that—for the way she makes making breakfast look so good, for the way she still looked beautiful even on three hours of sleep.

This morning, Tomoyo was cooking her famous French toast again. The sugary scent filled the cold air of their small apartment.

She turned when he came in. "Morning," she chirped brightly.

He drawled a soft "Morning" lost within a heavy yawn.

"I told you to come to bed earlier last night. You should be getting at least eight hours of sleep, you know."

He yawned again. "I had to finish reading the paper for class today."

She frowned a bit and set a mug of coffee in front of him. "Here, I made it extra strong."

"Thanks," and he took a sip. He loved the way she knew exactly how he liked his coffee.

She sat down in the chair opposing him and pushed a plate of toast to him. "Eat," she ordered.

Eriol didn't have time to reply because his mouth was already full. He also loved the way she would watch him over the rim of her teacup.

This was how their mornings would past, quietly and soft. Eriol would be off to the university and Tomoyo to the art studio. "Eriol, are you all right?" Tomoyo asked, rather strangely, on this particular morning.

"No," he looked puzzled. Then, "Should I be not all right?"

"Well, no. It's just that you are looking at me quite a lot today."

He smiled that infamous boyish smile of his that Tomoyo, rather secretly, loved. "I was just thinking."

"Hm?"

"Thinking of how much I love these mornings I spend with you and that I would like every morning, for as long as I live and breath, to be like this." She could only laughed. "Well, Tomoyo? Would it be like this?"

"I don't know," she answered with a tint of mystery in her great purple eyes and pushed her empty teacup towards him. "You tell me."

He looked down into the mass of greenish brown tea leaves inside and searched for those familiar signs that Clow Reed had known. His eyes twinkled. "It says that you will suffer an unfortunate but amusing accident today."

She pouted, picked up her messenger bag and with a stubborn "We'll see who's the one to suffer an unfortunate accident," she was gone.

* * *

Tomoyo came home that night with her long black hair covered in bright florescent orange paint. Eriol laughed and didn't dare to utter "I told you so." 

Somehow, her lips found his. When they parted, she said, "So you'll shut up."

Eriol kissed her eyes, her nose, her mouth; he couldn't help but smile—his hands lost in her hair. "I still love you, with or without the orange paint."

"I know," she returned the same smile. "And I love you, even through uncertainty."

* * *


	3. another grey day in the deep blue world

* * *

**Three: another grey day in the deep blue world

* * *

**

If Eriol were a season, he would be winter—he was the deep blue of the January morning sky after a harsh winter storm; he was that inclement calm of an infinite shade of blue, somehow a contradiction between excitement and repose. He was esoteric and bottomless like a world hidden beneath the forgetful snow. His skin was pallid—almost ashened, ceramic—an undiluted entity.

Tomoyo felt like a gray sky against his purity. She had been broken beyond repair, stuck out there somewhere between the spaces of passing time. She wanted to know truth in the same way he did.

And she grabbed his hand, wanting him to tell her his secret and tell her what it was that he knew that had completed him this way.

He smiled—a humble, half smile. "Would you follow me across the horizon line and into the sun? Into the twinkle of a fading star? That's where infinity ends."

* * *


	4. to the last syllable of recorded time

* * *

**Four: to the last syllable of recorded time

* * *

**

It was mid-Decemeber when they started to read Shakespeare. 

"_Macbeth_," the professor was saying. "In short, shows life in the cave. Without religion, animism rules the outer world, and without faith, the human soul is beset by hobgoblins..."

Tomoyo had started to create different patterns of snowflakes on the corner of her notebook. "...and yet Macbeth is the protagonist, the hero, with whom as such, for the right tragic effect, there must, naturally, be some large measure of sympathy..." They branched out into an array of geometric shapes like fractals. 

"We must note an interesting aspect of Macbeth and that is the influence of Lady Macbeth," the professor had moved on to another topic. There was the shuffling of papers, he paced again across the stage.

Tomoyo let out a heavy sigh. 

"...with her husband out of her reach and society in shambles, Lady Macbeth no longer has any reason for being--"

She frowned, suddenly, at the comment. "But her husband loved her," she murmured. "Isn't that enough?" 

"I'm sorry?" Eriol, sitting in the seat beside hers, turned to her expectly.

"Nothing." 

"'She should have died hereafter;  
There would have been a time for such a word.  
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow  
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,  
**To the last syllable of recorded time**;  
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools  
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!  
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
And then is heard of no more. It is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury  
Signifying nothing.'"

The professor paused for effect. "These lines, spoken by Macbeth, upon hearing the news of his wife's death are perhaps the most pessimistic lines Shakespeare had ever written..." 

Tomoyo shuddered. She put down her pencil. A half finished snowflake was frozen in mid-fall upon her paper. "Eriol," she touched his arm. "What does death feel like?"

He was baffled; his expression placed somewhere between surprise and confusion. "I don't know. It's sort of blurry." 

Her eyes were unlit, dangerous. "Could it be that love is not omnipotent?"

Then his arm was suddenly around her; his breath warm against her neck. "Stop thinking," he whispered. 

Yet somehow, within the broken snowflakes suspended in mid-fall, Tomoyo could only smile.

* * *

Note: Actual _Macbeth_ quote; Act 5, scene 5, lines 17-28. 


	5. the cruelest month

**

* * *

**

**Five: the cruelest month

* * *

**

Snow was finally leaving the city. That morning, Eriol had pushed his winter coat deep into the back of his closet with much satisfaction. He drove to the university with his windows rolled down and wallowed in the warm wind, breathed in the pleasant scent waffling through the air.

He wore his favorite blue shirt─although it was still a tad too cold for it─in celebration of the improving weather conditions. Eriol disliked the bitter cold of the long Japanese winters for everything was lifeless and dreary beneath the winter snow.

Eriol was shivering when he made his way to his classroom but didn't regret, at all, dressing too modest for the fickle climate. The warm air of the room greeted him as he stepped in. He was surprised to find Tomoyo there, standing alone at the window and looking out into the distance as if something immense and infinite had been printed there. Her dark hair made a wondrous halo of gold about her head from the early morning sunlight. She was undisturbed by his entrance, wearing a painfully wistful expression.

Eriol smiled as witty schemes manifested themselves in his mind, which all included upsetting Tomoyo and all ended in his misfortune. He quickly tucked those thoughts away from his consciousness.

"Good morning!" He settled for an optimistic greeting instead.

She turned to the source of the voice. "Oh!" She recognized him. "Good morning, Eriol-san."

"And how are we today?"

She didn't speak at all. Her eyes somehow fixed on a particular spot outside the window. Eriol peeped over her shoulder. Below, a certain auburn hair lady was late again for class. She was speeding through the campus, speeding away to a certain young man.

"April is the cruelest month," she suddenly spoke, her voice quiet and controlled. "Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire," a pause. "Stirring dull roots with spring rain."

She laughed. "I've always been fond of T. S. Eliot," she turned to him─her eyes shone like black pearls.

"I know, Tomoyo-chan," he replied as he understood. An overwhelming sense of sympathy took hold of his voice. "Today is the first spring day of the year."

"How unfortunate," was all she said.

When he reached out to hold her hand, he was surprised by how cold she felt against his skin.

* * *


	6. new every morning

**Six: new every morning  
**

* * *

Eriol still remembers the first time he kissed her. It was mid-December and the first snow of the season had fallen that morning. He had walked her home. Then, somehow, his hand was lost behind her hair, touching the small of of her neck, and he kissed her. He remembered how warm she was; remembered the surprise in her eyes that transformed into something soft.Every time he kissed her, he would remember her warmth. He would think of her skin and her eyelashes.

Eriol still remembers the first time he saw her at three the morning. She was sleeping beside him, her long black hair was everywhere. And it was in that moment when he realized just how much he loved her.

Tomoyo was different from anyone he had ever known. She was always changing. Every time he was with her it felt like the first time. She was new to him every morning. Everything about her was beautiful.

* * *


	7. lost, in order to become precious

**Seven: lost, in order to become precious

* * *

**

The moment he saw the long raven locks, it was unmistakable. No one except her has ash colored hair. Then, he was surprised. Of all places, she was here in Southend, an obscure seaside town in England."Tomoyo-chan!" he called after her when he noticed that she was heading out the door. "Wait!" he dashed after her.

She had suddenly stopped and stiffened to the sound of her name. "Tomoyo-chan?" his voice was softer.

"Eriol-chan?" she had turned to see him.He smiled. "I was afraid you might have forgotten me."

"I'm surprised you still remember me," she returned the smile.

Eriol was suddenly struck by the color of her eyes. He had always known that they were violet, yet here in the unlit doorway of an obscure little cafe in an obscure little town, he could have sworn they were glowing.

"I just stopped to ask for directions; a bit lost, you see. It's my first time in these parts of England. The sea is gorgeous though," she took the opportunity to fill the silence. "Eriol-chan?"

He took a step back. "It's just been such a long time," he stuttered.

"Twelve years, almost," she supplied. Her eyes studied him. "How have you been all this time?"

There was a mild scent of sandalwood in the air, somehow flowery and florid. "It's been—er—but—do you time to have a cup of coffee with an old friend?"

"Absolutely," she said and nodded.

"Well, I have a charming little seaside cottage not far from here. We can catch up and then I can help you find your way. I'm an excellent guide you know."

She laughed. "I'm sure you are," she stepped out into the sunlight as Eriol held the door for her. Suddenly, she was glad. She had the overwhelming sensation of having been found.

* * *


	8. four rings of light upon the ceiling

**Eight: four rings of light upon the ceiling

* * *

**

Tomoyo had almost forgotten what it was like to have someone else beside her. Sometimes, she'd wake up in the middle of the night and notice how awfully big her bed was and how silent the room was. It had been a long time now. Almost a year had passed. She had forgotten the sound of his voice. She had even forgotten the exact color of his eyes. But Tomoyo always, _always_ remembered his warmth and his weight sagging down the mattress beside her.

He used to snuggle into the space between her neck and shoulder at night; breathed into her ear. She remembered the four rings of dim light upon the ceiling overhead when they made love. He was always so gentle. The pressure from his body was never too heavy. He'd lay a trail of kisses on the long column of her neck and then up to her earlobes.

He told her, time and time again, how much he loved that she didn't have her ears pierced. "You are so whole, Tomoyo," he'd say. He had loved the endlessness of her skin; how smooth and pale she was.

She remembered that beyond anything else; his love, so thorough and tender. "Tomoyo," sometimes he would say late at night when he was neither awake nor asleep. "You are my highest reverence, my highest reverence."

And she suddenly realized that it was his essence that was etched into her. No matter how much she needed to be cleansed of him, he had gotten too deep under her skin, too deep into her essence.

The next day, Tomoyo had her ears pierced.

* * *


	9. one true thing

**

* * *

Nine: one true thing

* * *

**

Ever since elementary school, Eriol had liked Tomoyo. There was something about her that was warm and sweet as a mid-summer's breeze; and there was something mysterious in the way she smiled and talked. Yet, Eriol knew how sad and lonely she was truly, deep down inside. He had liked her because he understood her without knowing her and because he found pieces of himself within her.

But there was too much pretense between them. They were always close but never touching. He had settled into the role of Sakura's friend and guardian. Tomoyo would always be Sakura's best friend no matter where life took her. Sakura was their only link, their only reason to be together.

It was all one big lie, he had suddenly realized one day. Eriol didn't even know where Clow ended and he began. Sometimes the memories he inherited were too real to be simply memories. Sometimes he didn't know if Clow was a part of him or if he was only a part of Clow. Sometimes he didn't even know who he was anymore.

Tomoyo had lived her own lie, he knew. She had put herself up on a pedestal in her overwhelming beauty and her altruism. She held herself like a star in the sky where no one can reach her. All the pretext she surrounded herself in because she had love too much, too fiercely then only to have that love unreturned.

Eriol was suddenly amused by their situation. Life shouldn't be so difficult like this. They were a pair of fallen heroes in a Greek tragedy—everything was nothing but a tragedy.

It was as though they were kindred spirits. If their souls ever met and love, they would tear each other apart. Yet, when they got to each other's core, they would see that they had both come from the same root. Despite all the deception and excuses between them, Eriol knew that this was the one true thing.

* * *


	10. in praise of surfaces

**Ten: in praise of surfaces

* * *

**

There was something particular in the way Tomoyo held herself. She stood erect, her chin up showing off her long swan neck, and always composed. Yet, Eriol felt that there was something she was holding back, perhaps holding on. When she smiled, it seemed to never quite resonate in her eyes. When she laughed, her voice always faltered slightly towards the end.

"Good morning, Hiiragisawa-san," she greeted him every day.

"Hiiragisawa-san, I will see you tomorrow. Take care," she said goodbye to him every night.

She was practiced at platitudes—however and often empty. He wanted so much to tear away her masks. Lies—all of them heavy—were too ubiquitous to be discerned from truth anymore.

"How are you today, Daidouji-san?" _You are not very well today, despite what you want to believe._

"Fine, Hiiragisawa-san. How are you?" _I will be fine. I will. I will._

"Good, thanks." _But you know you won't._

"You are welcome." _Perhaps not._ _If you can't fix it, Hiiragisawa-san, you have to stand it._ She'd then smile that woeful smile of hers again. A flash of hope, a glimmer of darkness.

Their statements of all the things unspoken were only that: tacit and unacknowledged. The days would go on and on and on. Tomoyo would still be sad. Eriol would still be watching. There was a fog, a misty fog of unforgiving stillness and misunderstandings and pains and sufferings burned too deep into the skin, into memory, into themselves.

There were days, however, when Tomoyo's perfect veneer would crack, only a little, of course. Her hand gripped his elbow, unable to let go, unable to move. "Sometimes, the silence is roaring," she'd say in a thin, quiet whisper. _You have no idea how bad it gets._

"I know," he'd return in the same thin, quiet whisper. _Yes. I do. I can see it in your eyes. I do. I do. Oh God, Tomoyo, I do._

Then when the moment was gone, so was the truth. Her walls were up again, her mask polished. He couldn't stand it—the superficiality of it. Her happiness was only skin deep. It was all a surface. It was the lie of it that was suffocating; the utter stench of the fakeness of it that he could only smell. Yet all Eriol could do was to watch, be her unwavering support when she fell. All he could do was to be in praise of surfaces—her surfaces, no matter how bad it got.

* * *

Note: _Brokeback_ _Mountain_ broke my heart. Some lines were taken from the short story. 


	11. the heart of your gesture

**Eleven: the heart of your gesture

* * *

**

Tomoyo was never one for sappy love stories. She had given up on the notion of true love for many years now. Perhaps, Prince Charming's and Happily-Ever-After's are only the stuff of fairy tales. Life is much more complex and irrational.

"Do you believe in true love?" she had asked him once.

"No," he had replied.

"Do you believe that two people can fall in love?"

He had paused then and studied her. "Yes, I do. I believe that one person can have two great loves in their life."

"Was Kaho your first great love?" she asked without thinking. She frowned suddenly, knowing somehow the question was out of line. "I—don't answer that."

"It's okay, Tomoyo. It's fine. Yes. Yes, she was."

There was silence after this. She had never seen him so broken before. Was this what it felt like to have loved and lost? Tomoyo too have loved and lost once. It was such a long time ago. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

She took Eriol's hands and held them. Perhaps it was their sadness that had brought them together. Perhaps it was the recognition of that same suffering. Tomoyo suddenly felt her heart open to him. She took his hands and held them tighter.

"Who's your second great love?" she asked in a whisper.

He smiled. "I don't know yet. But I think I have found her," a pause. "Who is your second great love, Tomoyo?"

"I don't know yet," she smiled too. "I don't believe in true love, Eriol-kun. I don't even believe that there is a great love. But I do believe that there is true-enough love. People can find a love that is fulfilling for the rest of your life. That is all there is. But I'm still looking."

And she was looking into his eyes—a steady blue.

* * *


	12. effect of impact on stationary objects

**Twelve: effect of impact on stationary objects

* * *

**

"I wish I was in love," Tomoyo sighed heavily. Her hands smoothed over the heavy glossy covers of Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_ and sat the book down on the small table beside the plush red armchair.

"Hm," Eriol gave a soft acknowledgement from his corner. He didn't look up from his newspaper.

She pulled her legs beneath her and shifted into a more comfortable position in the armchair. "Not just love, you know," she said thoughtfully. "But _love_."

"I didn't know there was more than one type of love," his tone was detached.

She giggled. "Of course there is more than one type of love, Eriol-kun!"

"Hm."

"There's compassionate love," she ensued, "for everyday—love for others in misfortune and animals and the world in general. There's regular love, which you feel for your closest friends and family. Then, there's _love_—a passionate, earth shattering love that you feel once in your life and after which you are never the same again."

He looked up at her. "Really?" he said, betraying more interest than he intended.

"Oh," she sighed again, not paying much attention to him. "Wouldn't it be nice to be completely, utterly consumed by something bigger than yourself? To be taken head over heels? To meet someone like Mr. Darcy?"

Eriol squinted at her as if trying to decide something of utmost importance. She had collapsed, rather too easily he might add, in his favorite armchair wearing a wistful expression he had never seen before. "I suppose," he said slowly, confused, inferring from her silence that he was to say something intelligent. "Er, I guess it would be rather nice."

She gave him a disapproving look. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Sure I do!" he proclaimed, indignantly. "You said you wished you were in love," he added, placing particular emphasis on the last word.

She arranged herself again in his armchair and smoothed her skirt. "Never mind," Tomoyo seemed annoyed.

He began to panic a little. "Well, what _are_ you talking about then?"

"I said never mind," she stood up and walked out of the room without so much as a glance at him.

Eriol blinked. He sat in his chair and thought about what had just happened. Then he pretended to continue reading his newspaper until he was sure that Tomoyo was not returning.

When he heard her downstairs in the kitchen preparing the afternoon tea, he quickly marched to the red armchair and lifted up the book she had been reading. He wanted to know what could possibly cause all this fuss. And what was the big deal with that Darcy bloke anyways?

He opened to the first chapter.

* * *


	13. truth and peaches

**Thirteen: truth and peaches**

* * *

She told him that he needed to bring peaches for the party. He thought that it was an odd sort of request. Nonetheless, he took the trouble of going to the nearest farmer's market to buy the freshest peaches he was able to find. She also told him to arrive an hour early. He had wondered why, but even so he obliged. It was Tomoyo after all.

"How nice of you to bring fresh peaches, Eriol-kun," Tomoyo smiled when she received him at the door.

He smiled back. "The farmer assured me that they were only picked this morning. They do look very delicious," Eriol added as he followed her through the twisting corridors of the Daidouji Mansion. "But we ought to be careful about it. Syaoran is terribly allergic to peach fuzz. We wouldn't want to have my cute descendant to break out in hives now, would we?"

"Oh, I know," Tomoyo laughed, pushing open the doors of the sparkling kitchen. "You better not be having any funny ideas, Eriol-kun."

He mocked a horrified expression. "It wounds me deeply to know you think so ill of me. I'm a perfect gentleman and such a terrible, awful idea had never crossed my mind," he retorted in a calm innocent voice.

"All right, I suppose I will have to take a gentleman's word for it."

"Of course you will," he winked. Rubbing his hands together enthusiastically, Eriol jumped to sit on the black granite island counter. "Now, tell me what your brilliant mind had intended in summoning me to your home so early."

She handed him the basket of peaches. "Today, you are going to help me make peach cobbler for Sakura-chan's engagement party," her purple eyes sparkled. "And your first job is to peel and slice these peaches."

"Yes m'am, you got it." Eriol washed his hands at the sink. As he picked up the peaches, he asked: "So while I am slaving away with this, what are you doing?"

Tomoyo laughed. "I'm finishing up the stuffed mushrooms, baking the Bruschetta, making the artichoke dip, and I'm just about to get started on the chicken."

Eriol deftly sliced the peach in his hand. "Are you always so perfect, Tomoyo-chan?" he asked with a soft smile.

"Of course," she replied.

They worked in silence. Tomoyo's multitasking skills would have put the finest CEO in the world to shame. Eriol couldn't help but smile when, without missing a beat, Tomoyo pushed the cobbler batter into his hand as soon as all the peaches were peeled and sliced.

In a rare moment of rest, as Tomoyo waited for the chicken to cook in the saucepan and the mushrooms to bake, she said in a small voice, "You must know why I asked you here early today."

Her words caught him off guard. "I really have no clue, Tomoyo-chan," he stuttered.

"Don't you think I noticed all those little looks you've been giving me lately? You really need to be more discreet."

"I don't know what you are talking about," Eriol tried to save himself one last time.

Tomoyo rolled her eyes. "Eriol-kun, you don't have to worry about me."

He chose to shut his mouth.

"I know what you are thinking: oh no, poor Tomoyo, her best friend is getting married, she must be so heartbroken. And yes, I am sad. But I am also happy. I am very happy for Sakura and Syaoran because they are the two most important people in my life."

Eriol studied her face. Her eyes were determined, challenging him. "Okay," he finally conceded, not willing to risk a confrontation with her.

"Okay," she said smiling as she took the peach slices drenched in batter from the pan in his hands to put into the oven. Eriol watched as she worked like a maestro in front of a symphony orchestra, the director of a carefully choreographed dance in the kitchen.

In that moment, Eriol saw her so clearly that he could have split her in two: her future, his future, everything opened up to him like a book. When all the guests arrive for the party, Tomoyo would be the gracious host. When the guests compliment the peach cobbler, because he already knew that it would be delicious, Tomoyo would refuse all praise and insist that it was Eriol who was responsible, even though he only brought the peaches. She would give a beautiful toast to the bride and groom because she loved too much, too fiercely. She would hug Syaoran tightly and welcome him like a brother. She would kiss Sakura on the cheek and wish her all the happiness in the world and mean it whole heartedly because she was selfless.

Eriol saw it all because he would be the only one who understood her. And as Tomoyo stood in the foyer to greet her guests, Eriol would be beside her. He would hold her hand so tightly that his fingers would turn white. Eriol was the only one who knew the truth.

* * *


End file.
